Sunset

From this windy bridge at rest,

In some former curious hour,

We have watched the city's hue,

All along the orange west,

Cupola and pointed tower,

Darken into solid blue.

Tho' the biting north wind

Full across this drifted hold,

Let us stand with iced

Watching westward as of old;

Past the violet

To the farthest fringe of pine,

Where far off the

Narrows to a dusky line,

And the last pale splendours

Slowly from the olive sky;

Till the thin clouds wear

Into threads of purple-gray,

And the sudden stars

Brighten in the pallid green;

Till above the spacious east,

Slow returned one by one,

Like pale prisoners

From the dungeons of the sun,

Capella and her train

In the glittering Charioteer;

Till the rounded moon shall

Great above the eastern snow,

Shining into burnished gold;

And the silver earth outrolled,

In the misty yellow light,

Shall take on the width of night.